


Ere The Sun Sets At Muzillac

by CelesteExTenebris



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Angst, Crying, Depression, Emotionally Repressed, Horatio-typical levels of stubbornness, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rated M for Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteExTenebris/pseuds/CelesteExTenebris
Summary: The navy suffered a tragic defeat at the shores of Muzillac. How can Horatio cope with the losses and his feelings that get more complicated by the day?
Relationships: Horatio Hornblower/Edward Pellew
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Ere The Sun Sets At Muzillac

Edward Pellew

Captain Pellew had always feared that the boy's courageous spirit and excessive eagerness for self-sacrifice would get him into serious trouble one day. "Trouble" here meaning considerably more than the occasional duel with a raging madman or a light-hearted trip onboard a flame-spitting fireship, which he had long since learnt to accept as minor, yet frequent inconveniences. This time though, Pellew was sure, Hornblower had outdone himself. 

It had been but two days since his best Midshipman had returned from the shore of Muzillac after an expedition that had been thoroughly disastrous and doomed from the beginning. They had been sent to aid a so-called "troop" of French Royalists, mere shadows of their former selves, in their sad effort to retake the city. Their hopes soon crumbled when the townspeople proved to be revolutionaries and attacked the combined force of British and French troops in devastating bloodshed. It was only by sheer luck that a part of the men made it back alive, and he knew it. The worst part about it was, however, that Pellew had been certain that the expedition would be a failure all along. While these feelings of guilt had already been enough to keep him up until late at night, they weighed a thousand times heavier on his conscience now that the bitter reality of the losses had become so apparent on the whole ship. A ship so dreadfully empty now, the absence of men haunting him as the gaping holes in the crew seemed to be filled with ghosts. He knew with dreadful certainty now that he had failed as a Captain, and oh, how he blamed himself. 

Still, even though Pellew himself had done so, he hoped that at least Hornblower hadn’t lost all trust in his old Captain.

While all the men had to face loss and disappointment back at Muzillac, the young man in question had doubtlessly suffered the gravest of them. The man had been but a sorry wreck when Pellew listened to his report in the Great Cabin. He had befriended a young lady in the doomed town, a beauty unlike any other if one could trust the sailor’s gossip. While it must have been pure infatuation – it couldn’t have been anything else in such a ridiculously short time, could it? – the Midshipman had taken quite a liking to her, so he was all the more crushed when she did not make it. Her life was lost like so many others that day, so how, Pellew asked himself, did he even dare to find himself, amongst all sorriness and guilt, in the unmistakable grasp of jealously? Indeed, he had taken the spirited officer into his heart in a way he did not dare to name, for it was hardly an appropriate kind of affection. Yet the thing he was trying to ignore so desperately grew more and more prominent with each day, taunting him like the proverbial elephant in the room that did its best to get his attention. Of course he had heard of predicaments like this before; every sailor who hadn’t clogged his ears with tar had heard of them. But that it would happen to himself?

In the end, the Captains attempts to deny what his subconscious flaunted so blatantly before his mind’s eye had failed, and it had done so before he’d had any chance to put reason against emotion. He was completely smitten with the boy since he first layed eyes on him, and deep down he knew as certain as the tide that no amount of denial would change this treacherous heart of his all too soon.

As Pellew listened to Bracegirdle's report about what was supposed to be a quick venture ashore, fetching water for the way back home, he could but stand there, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. The Lieutenant hastily uttered words that did not seem to make any sense to the Captain, stating how Mr Hornblower had departed from the group with the intention of dealing the French a devastating last blow.

"Mr Bracegirdle, if you keep stuttering like that, you may as well march up to the French and inform them that one of Englands' finest frigates is currently dramatically shorthanded and loitering about but a few miles in front of their noses!“ he snapped and clenched his fists behind his back. The seething worry seemed to hollow his chest out, and anger about his own short-sightedness filled the empty space. Young lieutenant Hornblower, so recently scarred by a disastrous defeat, was supposed to be under his care, and he should have known better than to let him run off when the wounds were still fresh.

Bracegirdle collected himself and continued in a steadier pace: "As soon as we spotted the powder magazine, there was no holding him back. Before disappearing into the woods, he clearly stated his intention to cause damage to the tower and dispose of all the powder supplies. Told us he wanted to make amends for Muzillac and whatnot.”

Realizing the bewildered look in his Captain’s face, he added in a lower voice: “If you ask me, Sir, he was out of his mind. It must've been the shock from the battle, after all he had some serious kind of luck to make it out alive at all.”

“I fear you may be right.” Pellew mumbled, unusually silent while grasping the reeling and letting his gaze drift off to the land. "Let us pray to God he's as thorough in his follies as he is in his wits, so we may not be too late."

✢✢✢

For the second time this week, Pellew found himself on a small boat, rowing frantically towards some French coast in the middle of God-knows-where, when the thought occurred to him if he would ever, in fact, stop rowing after Hornblower. Plunging the oars into the water and pushing the boat forward with all the strength he could muster, remembering how he had insisted to row it himself, he could almost have laughed if the situation weren’t so bloody desperate. Their little delegation, consisting of Bracegirdle, four sailors and the Captain of the _Indefatigable_ , approached the coast quickly. Pellew jumped out of the boat as soon as they reached shallow waters, cold drops splashing up and drenching his stockings. With great strides, he marched up to the French mainland. His hands were shaking, a fact he half-heartedly tried to blame on the exertion of their hasty passage.

“Bracegirdle!” he bellowed, surprised by the amount of control he still seemed to have over his voice while his body was forsaking him. "If you could show me in the direction where this accursed adventure of yours commenced?"

"Of course, Sir. If you would follow me right here..."

They marched silently but steady for minutes that seemed to stretch into hours. Mostly silent, that is, after a sailor by the name of Styles whispered a comment into his companion's ear that decidedly sounded like: "Mr Hornblower needn't bother taking down that tower. The Frenchies built it, it will take care of that on its own after a while." He was instantly met with death glares from Captain and first Lieutenant alike.

The small delegation fought their way through branches and bushes until they reached a clearing that finally revealed the view of their destination, a massive tower that cast its shadow in their direction. The way its dark silhouette stood against the sky gave it a most sinister touch in Pellews imagination, but he did not linger before it.

"Bracegirdle! You and the men stay here and keep an eye on the surroundings. We don’t want any Frenchmen to surprise us, don’t we?” he ordered and continued his way without waiting for an answer.

"But, Sir, would it not be better if we were to..." the faint sound of Bracegirdle's protest reached his ears, but what exactly it was that would be better, Pellew didn't hear. Nor did he care. To hell with protocol, and to hell with logic, if it had to be cast aside to save Hornblower's life. A frantic group of sailors that besieged him would simply not do. Pellew was going to do everything in his power to talk the young man out of his dreadful plan, and if he had to fall to his feet and beg and carry the stubborn boy out of France on his own arms, then so be it. He had been able to talk sense into him once or twice before, and he would be damned if he couldn’t do it a third time.

As he approached the stone behemoth, he became aware of a sound that couldn't be a part of the surrounding nature. He had heard it a thousand times before: the trickle of gunpowder. He quickened his steps once more until he was almost running, and finally, finally he saw before him whom he had been looking for: dear Horatio, a heavy barrel in his hands and spilling its explosive content onto the ground, grim-faced but so mercifully alive.

"Hornblower!" he heard his own voice shout the name, and it seemed farther away than ever. Reality seemed to freeze before his eyes, almost like they were standing under a giant dome of glass that isolated them from the rest of the world. If time had seemed to pass far too fast on his way here, it had stopped now entirely. A gust of wind came down from the hazy sky, brushed through the younger man's curls and let them dance in the breeze, before he lifted his head ever so slowly to meet his Captain's eyes.

Horatio Hornblower

The darkness that now obscured his thoughts had come in silence, spreading like pitch-black stains of ink, and its whispers had puppeteered him. He had never planned to do this, had he? Never planned to end it like this, defeated and lonely and worst of all, not caring anymore. All the people dying, him letting Mariette be shot and the irredeemable mess in his heart, the sum of all this had been too much. His mouth had uttered the plan to his friend Bracegirdle while he could only stand there and watch his body act on its own. In retrospect, Horatio found it to be an excellent plan. Everything that dragged him down and was so unspeakable that it even forbade the thought of it, would be over, and a last triumph for the navy could be gained from it. As soon as he had reached the powder magazine, this plain building of mortar and stone, he had gathered barrels and laid out a trail of gunpowder to light it when the time had come. The fuse lay far too close to the building, and every military man who knew his way around explosives would have been stern to criticize his work because its shortness rendered an escape a more than unlikely feat - but then, he did not plan this action with an escape in mind. No, he would sit down as the sizzling sparks travelled away, take a last look in the direction where the Indy must lie, and wait for the moment when the pain and the guilt stopped and a certain suppressed thought was extinguished before it ever had the chance to surface.

So why then was it that right when he was about to finish his work, he heard a voice calling out his name? His heart, which he had already assumed to have stopped beating somewhere between France and the open ocean, abruptly came to life and caused a painful stir in his chest - because it was the voice of the one he had tried to banish from his thoughts.

_'Not of all people...'_

He looked up, his eyes slowly beginning to burn with tears which he never meant to cry, and saw a breathless Captain Pellew coming to a halt a few feet in front of him.

"Sir?" he asked with a cracking voice, suddenly forsaken by the rest of his vocabulary.

"Hornblower, what in heaven's name...?" the older man uttered, visibly agitated in a way he had never seen him in before.

_'Of course.'_ Horatio thought to himself. _'I disobeyed an order and acted on my own. Such behaviour naturally deserves a good explanation lest it be considered insubordination.'_

"Sir." he pulled himself together, swallowing the tears back. Not all was lost yet if he could just keep a stiff upper lip and sound convincing enough. "This magazine is unguarded and filled up to the roof with gunpowder. I believe it my duty as an officer to deprive the French of their supplies whichever way I can, and this in an opportunity unlike any other."

"No, Mr Hornblower. This plan of yours lacks in all but enthusiasm. I simply forbid you to follow through with this foolishness." the Captain growled in a voice that reminded Horatio of a different world, where the wind filled the sails and everything was alright. The memory sparked something in him that he could not yet make out clearly, but while he continued to defend his self-imposed mission, Pellew's words seemed to reach him now.

"But why, Sir? It is a simple matter, I only have to..."

"What you have to do is to come back to the _Indefatigable_ and resume your duties as Lieutenant. I can not blame you for doubting my words considering my recent failure, but let me say this much: this plan will see you to the grave and us all the poorer for it!"

Horatio felt like the wind was being taken out of his sails and he was unable to shake out the reef to stop halting. "No, Sir, I would never think bad of you, and certainly not under circumstances that were not of your making! I simply thought... just consider the damage this would mean to the Republican troups..."

"Whatever advantage could be gained for England here, in exchange for your life it would be a poor one! And yes, I do realize your intentions to their full extent, and therefore I beg you to quit this suicidal scheme immediately!"

The words felt like a slap in his face. Horatio could but stare back at the man while his own words escaped him once more.

_'God, no, not now!'_ he thought as he felt a single tear rolling down his cheek. Before he could wipe it away, his legs began to grow weaker and his lips started to quiver. All the pent-up emotions bursted out of him, and the next thing he knew was that he had sunk to the dirty ground, his back against the wall and his face wet with tears. Such desperate sobs came from his mouth that he almost felt choked by them.

Why did Captain Pellew have to be the one to come after him? Any other man he could have persisted against, but this had been a lost cause from the beginning. All his fears and follies came flooding over him, the failure and the burden and the love he had held back for too long. 

_'Don't let it show, dear heavens. Don't let him know and you can at least go with whatever dignity you may have left.'_ Horatio's thoughts tumbled through his restless mind - a mind which, he felt, needed nothing but the one thing this dreary world refused to give him: rest. He fought back the tears blurring his vision and did not dare to look up at the man who now offered his hands to him. The kindness of the gesture - this pure sincerity of the man he had betrayed with a heart that beat the wrong way - made it hurt even more. A thought, so bold that it would never have crossed his mind if the circumstances were any different, formed in his mind: If he _told him_ , got that one thing off his chest before he took his own life, what would he have to lose? He slowly liften his head, and there, in his blurry vision, stood his Captain, his hands still reaching out to him and a sad smile beckoning him to take them.

No! He did not want to fade away while the last thing he saw was disappointment and, how hurtful the thought, disgust in Edward Pellew's eyes.

"Do you not realize how important this is?" he whispered in a tired voice, yet he could not avert his gaze, no matter how dishevelled he must have looked.

"Do you not realize how important _you_ are, Horatio?" Pellew answered, either not realizing that he had used the younger man's first name, or not caring if he had done so.

It was only a word, yet to Horatio it was so much more: all the clouds that had darkened the skies over him lifted at once and the ability to think clearly came back to him within seconds.

"Never let anything convince you otherwise." Pellew said with the warmest look in his eyes, before Horatio finally took the offered hand and rose to his feet. "There, that's more like it, I daresay."

The Captain's hand felt like an anchor on him until the tempest turned into nothing more than a fresh breeze. Horatio could breathe again. The tears that had blinded him mere moments before already began to dry as he managed a silent "Thank you, Sir.", a slight shudder in his voice as a last reminder of the breakdown he had overcome.

Moments passed while the men's gazes interlocked - not searching for words, or signs, or anything at all. Horatio's heart that had just started to settle after its tantrum made a quick jump again and he found himself in a sudden state of agitation yet again, although it was of a very different nature this time.

Pellew was the first to be brought down back to earth. He cleared his throat and laid his hand on Horatio's shoulder instead.

"How about if we return onboard, head for the open ocean and leave these cursed shores behind at last?"

Horatio's face was lit up by a smile as he nodded his approval. This sounded like the best idea he had heard in weeks.


End file.
